The Sorting Hat
by alohamora080
Summary: Over the years, the Sorting Hat dealt with a lot.
1. Year I: 2009

Author's Note: I've always wanted to write a story like this. This is going to contain the sortings of all the canon Next Generation characters, meaning the ones that were introduced by J.K. Rowling in Deathly Hallows/her family tree. It'll be by year. Each chapter will be of a certain year and all of the canon characters that started Hogwarts that particular year will be 'sorted' in that chapter.

First up is Teddy Lupin of 2009. :)

Disclaimer: _Harry Potter_ belongs to J.K. Rowling.

* * *

September 1, 2009

They tripped into the hall one by one, faces set and white, eyes darting anxiously around the room, as they surveyed the large room that would—very soon—be their daily dining hall.

The usual remarks were made about the ceiling, and how it seemed to open up into the heavens, and the usual questions were asked about how exactly they were to be sorted.

The focus of the entire room, however, seemed to be mainly directed towards a little boy in the far back of the expanse, the reason being because his hair was a bright turquoise.

They gawked at him, wondering how on Earth he had convinced his parents to let him execute the coloring of his hair. The older children muttered to each other as he anxiously sauntered past them; and, he heard many of them say things such as, "Why would his parents let him do that?"

This did absolutely nothing to improve the young boy's nerves, not to mention that it reminded him that, in fact, he didn't _have_ parents. For the most part, he always tried not to let this fact bother, keeping in mind that he had his grandmother, the Potters, and the Weasleys, who looked after him and adored him.

Yet, he would be lying if he alleged that the fact didn't trouble him at all; he couldn't deny that he'd been envious at King's Cross that morning, witnessing the way numerous parents had hugged their children goodbye and promised to write.

But, he had his Godfather, and Ginny, and Gran, and the other Weasley-Potters. And, so, it was of them that he thought when Professor Longbottom finally called out, "Lupin, Ted."

Teddy Lupin scurried to the front of the room and up the steps. He promptly tripped on the last step, plummeting marvelously to the ground. There was an outbreak of chuckling, and Teddy felt both his cheeks and hair turn a brilliant red.

Struggling to ignore the looks of awe and astonishment on the faces of his fellow Hogwartians, Teddy quickly clambered onto the little stool, permitting Neville release the hat over his eyes.

"A Lupin, eh? Well, I didn't think I'd be getting any more of you," a small voice in his head said.

Teddy started, jumping about a foot in the air.

_Who was that?_ he demanded.

"Why, the Sorting Hat, of course."

_You can talk?_

"No, but you can hear me," the small voice said wryly. "Anyway, Lupin, I see you want to be in Gryffindor."

_Er—yes._

"Tell me, why do _you_ think I should I put you there?"

Teddy thought hard, racking his brains. _Why should be he be in Gryffindor? He wasn't _extraordinarily _brave. He was daring, true, and he had nerve. But...did he have enough? Did he deserve to be in the house he'd heard so much about?_

"Gryffindor isn't all about bravery, you know," the voice said gently.

_It isn't? But you said in the song—_

"You see, to be in Gryffindor, you should be willing to risk everything for what you are passionate about. It isn't just nerve that makes you a Gryffindor, Teddy Lupin. It means you have nobility beyond all others. Everyone has fears, Teddy Lupin. But, you should be able to look past them."

_I _am _willing to do whatever it takes for something I care about_, Teddy thought firmly. _I have it in me_.

"Yes…yes, I can quite see you have this particular heroic characteristic."

There was a pause, and Teddy held his breath. Any moment now…any moment now the hat would shout out his new house, his new family.

"Your father had it, too."

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Needless to say, Teddy's hair was red and gold for a several days after that momentous evening.


	2. Year II: 2011

Author's Note: Well, I've decided to continue this and see how it goes. :) So far, I'm rather liking it. Thank you all so much for your lovely reviews!

I don't think all the Weasley-Potters got into Gryffindor; though the vast majority of them did. I'd find it somewhat unrealistic if they all got sorted into Gryffindor.

Disclaimer: _Harry Potter_ belongs to J.K. Rowling.

* * *

September 1, 2011

She twirled a lock of her immaculate blonde hair around her index finger apprehensively, standing on her tiptoes. and craning her head to get a better look at the raggedy old hat sitting on the stool.

Victoire snorted, imaging her mother's reaction if she ever saw this patched and frayed piece of cloth; Fleur Weasley was already disappointed that neither of her daughters were as openly orderly and efficient as she was. Well, perhaps little Louis wouldn't disappoint…

Victoire glided gracefully along with the other first years, as they moved nearer and nearer to the singing piece of headwear; she shuffled uncomfortably, as she observed the way several of the boys were conspicuously forgetting their pride to swivel around in their seats and gawk visibly at her.

Oh, how she detested those Veela genes.

Victoire turned to her right, gazing wistfully over at the Gryffindor table for the sixth time that evening. And, there he was. Teddy Lupin looked up from a conversation with his friend, caught her eye, and winked at her, giving her an encouraging thumbs-up. Victoire smiled weakly at him; it was so excruciating, watching him gamboling merrily away, whilst she was forced to wait for her sorting.

Victoire narrowed her eyes as a pretty-looking girl at the Gryffindor table leaned across, and whispered something in Teddy's ear, causing him to burst into peals of raucous laughter. Victoire felt a surge of what she could only assume to be jealousy, although she could not, for the life of her, understand why.

Her stomach gave a lurch as "Taylor, Amelia" was sorted into Hufflepuff. T, U, V, W…it would soon be her turn. And, not for the first time was Victoire wishing that her surname started with a letter in the middle of the alphabet. How absolutely terrifying it would be to climb onto the stool _last_.

"Weasley, Victoire," Neville Longbottom said firmly, nodding at Victoire to join him up at the front of the room.

Trembling from head to toe, Victoire somehow managed to maneuver her way up the staircase without falling down, as she'd heard Teddy had.

Then, the hat dropped over her eyes.

"A _Weasley_?"

Victoire gave an involuntary flinch. Teddy had warned her that the hat would try and talk to her, but, nonetheless, it had caught her completely unawares.

"Well, what a pleasant surprise," the voice said, with what Victoire was almost certain was a small cackle. "I was getting rather tired without any Weasleys to sort. A whole lot of hooligans you are."

_I'm not a hooligan_, Victoire frowned.

"Yes, I can see that. What a relief. You just might be the first Weasley that I'll be able to sort without going completely insane. Fred and George were quite a handful. And, don't even get me started on Percy Weasley. I've never sorted a more pompous person in my life."

Victoire grinned. It was true. Uncle Percy could be a prat sometimes.

"Now, I suppose you want to be in Gryffindor?"

_Er_, Victoire hesitated, mind reeling. If she _was_ in Gryffindor, she'd be living up to the family expectations. But maybe—just _maybe_—she didn't _want_ to be in Gryffindor.

"I must say I'm impressed," the voice said, in amazement. "There has never been a Weasley I haven't sorted to that house, but, no...I don't think you're quite right for it. No, no…"

Victoire gulped, suddenly uncertain of whether or not she had made the right decision.

"Don't worry, now," the voice said reassuringly. "You'll do fine wherever you go."

_Thank you._

"You are very polite, you know," the voice said thoughtfully. "You seem to be missing that...snarkiness...which most of your lot so unfortunately possess."

_Don't insult my family_, Victoire said half-heartedly, knowing that what the hat said was true—her sister, especially, had a tendency to mock people when she was riled. But, they were her family, after all. And, she would defend them to her death.

"Insulting them? Not at all. I was merely testing you. I know _exactly_ where to put you now. Your loyalty will get you far, m'lady…"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Victoire glanced fleetingly towards the Gryffindor Table. Teddy was looking as though he'd been walloped in the face with a frying pan. He recovered enough to smile warmly over at her, however. And, Victoire knew, in that fleeting instant, that _nothing_ could spoil their friendship.


	3. Year III: 2016

Author's Note: Fred Weasley II, James Potter II, and Dominique Weasleys' sortings. These three will just go out of their way to drive their teachers insane.

Disclaimer: _Harry Potter_ belongs to J.K. Rowling.

* * *

September 1, 2016

"They've come to wreck the school, haven't they?" Headmistress Sprout asked Minerva McGonagall, weakly, at the Staff Table, not tearing her gaze away from the three oddly innocent-looking children, who stood in the front of the large group of new first-years.

McGonagall smiled grimly, eyeing the three with utmost suspicion. She explained in a dry voice, "Well, if the stories I've heard from Molly and Arthur are true, James Sirius Potter and Fred Lee Weasley work quite hard, indeed, to emulate their respective namesakes."

Sprout gave a faint whimper.

Meanwhile, heading the crowd of first years, James Potter, Fred Weasley, and their favorite cousin, Dominique, were surveying the vastly crowded room with an air of interest.

"Do you reckon we should light them, now?" Fred murmured to Dominique.

"Are you out of your mind?" she snapped, rounding on him incredulously. "I don't know about you, but I want to be sorted before getting my first detention."

"Oh, why wait?" James asked lazily. "You know, we're all going to be Gryffindors, anyway."

Dominique didn't answer, shifting uncomfortably in her position, as she pretended to be engrossed in the song that the hat was singing. Truthfully, she wasn't sure the hat would put her in Gryffindor. It was no real secret that she had a cunning, sly, extremely devious side to her nature.

"You aren't still worried about not being a Gryffindor, are you?" James rolled his eyes at his cousin, immediately noticing the way she kept shooting the singing hat uneasy looks.

"What's wrong with not being a Gryffindor?" Dominique asked stiffly, shooting a covert look at the Hufflepuff Table, where her sixteen-year-old sister sat with her numerous friends, jabbering away to her heart's content. She seemed to notice her younger sister's gaze upon her, for she gave a little start, and grinned reassuringly at Dominique, mouthing, "Don't worry. You'll be fine."

Dominique nodded, giving her sister a feeble smile.

James shook his head in exasperation. If Dominique only knew just how much Gryffindor she had in her, she wouldn't be so worried.

As for himself, however, James wasn't quite sure. He kept telling himself he'd be in Gryffindor, but he couldn't help but feel that he wasn't being quite honest with himself.

His mind flashed back to the many, _many_ times he'd manipulated his younger brother—taken advantage of his slightly naïve personality—just so that James could get what he'd wanted, in the end. Manipulation…wasn't that one of the traits Salazar Slytherin had prized most in his pupils?

Fred Weasley fingered the Weasleys' Wildfire Whiz-bangs in his cloak pocket longingly. He wished the sorting would just finish, so that he could make his father proud.

Speaking of the sorting…Fred glanced over at his two cousins, eyebrows raised. Both were being unusually quiet, staring at the hat anxiously. Fred knew they were apprehensive about their sorting, but, for the life of him, he couldn't understand why.

He would be lying if he claimed that he didn't care where the hat put him; he did feel a rather strong attachment towards Gryffindor, as both his parents had showered the house with praise throughout the majority of his childhood. His father had gone far enough as to build a miniature version of the Gryffindor common room as a nursery for Fred and his younger sister when they were infants, much to their mother's amusement.

He couldn't imagine the hat putting him and his two beloved cousins anywhere else. For, after all, what house was more appropriate for mayhem? Fred grinned absently, recalling one or two stories his father had told him, about the antics that he and his twin brother had gotten into during _their_ schooldays.

And, so, as Neville placed the hat on his daughter—"Longbottom, Alice's"—head, the three cousins were looking relatively subdued.

"GRYFFINDOR!" the hat shouted, and Alice Longbottom scampered happily off to the Gryffindor table, whilst a very proud-looking Neville glanced down at his list to call forward the next first-year.

James braced himself, closing his eyes. His turn would come all too soon.

"Potter, James."

The room instantaneously fell quiet, and hushed whispers were exchanged from student to student. "Potter? Yes, he said _Potter_, as in Harry Potter's son!"

James rolled his eyes, as he strolled down the aisle with as much confidence as he could muster. Nonetheless, he spared Neville a momentarily terrified look before the latter dropped the hat over his eyes. And, everything was black.

"Why, how absolutely _fascinating_! A Potter, are you?" a voice exclaimed in his ear.

_Er_, James thought, raising an eyebrow at the hat's peculiarity. Though, James supposed _he_ wasn't one to talk. _Yes, I am._

"Well, I'll tell you one thing. You're not much like your father."

_Why do you say that?_ James wanted to know, although, he knew already that he and his father had almost nothing in common, in terms of personality.

"Well, for starters, _he_ was a lot less keen on breaking every school rule on _his_ first night here," the hat revealed snidely.

James smiled slightly sheepishly, hand instinctively shooting for the Weasleys' Wildfire Whiz-bangs hidden within his cloak.

"Oh my, not going to _light _those, are you?" the hat asked in a shocked voice.

_Of course not_, James thought, trying to sound blameless.

"Nice try, Potter."

James grinned good-naturedly.

"Well, I must say, I'm rather disappointed with your sorting."

James felt his stomach drop. _Why?_

"I know _exactly_ where to put you. I was rather hoping for a challenge. Your father's certainly was."

_What—_

"GRYFFINDOR!"

* * *

"Weasley, Dominique."

Dominique stumbled over to the stool, muttering comforting things to herself under her breath. She collapsed onto the stool, knees wobbling madly.

"Another Weasley, eh? You Weasleys are the largest gang of delinquents I've ever seen," a sly voice muttered in her ear.

_Get used to it,_ Dominique couldn't help herself. _There's plenty more where I came from._

"Is that an attitude I see?"

Dominique shuffled guiltily on the stool. This was exactly what she hadn't wanted. How absolutely terrible that the hat had had to get a full blast of her inferior side.

"Now, now," the hat admonished lightly. "I don't see anything dreadful about having a first-class attitude."

Dominique was puzzled. How could that be right? Her mother was always telling her to lose it.

"Sometimes a good attitude is what you need," the hat explained. "Especially to put people in their places, and with that James Potter in the same year as you, I suppose you'll be doing that a lot. Do you know he has a pack of fireworks hidden in his _pocket_?"

Dominique resisted a laugh. _We're going to light them together._

"Oh, Merlin," the hat exhaled wearily. "Well, it seems you've got some pretty fierce loyalty...did you know that?"

Did she ever. Her sheer steadfastness towards the ones she loved was the one thing she prized above all her other traits.

"…you'd do very well in Hufflepuff, like your sister."

_I—I don't think I could do well in Hufflepuff, _Dominique thought, biting her lip. _I wouldn't be happy there._

"Well, then, there's really only one other option for a wily little thing like you…"

Dominique's heart sank. The hat was going to put her in Slytherin. She was sure of it—

"SLY—GRYFFINDOR!"

"Fooled you," the hat chuckled.

The hat had just earned Dominique's eternal respect.

* * *

"Weasley, Fred."

Oh, why did Nana Molly's deplorable oldies' music choose _now_ to get stuck in his head? Many heads turned in his direction, shooting him odd looks, as he sang under his breath, "Oh, my poor heart, where has it gone? It's left me for a spell…"

Neville slipped the hat upon his head.

_Oh, come and stir my Cauldron, and if you do it right—_

"Will you _please_ settle down? Your appalling singing will be the death of me," a pleading voice sounded in his hear.

Fred paid no heed. It was a known fact: once he got started with his Celestina Warbeck renditions, he simply could not stop.

_—I'll boil you up some hot, strong love to keep you warm tonight!_

The hat gave a jaded sigh. "I'd better get this over with."

"GRYFFINDOR!"

* * *

The three new Gryffindor cousins gave each other beaming grins, as, simultaneously, they extracted thirty-odd packets of fireworks, from their pockets. Exchanging the most fleeting of gleeful looks with her male partners-in-crime, Dominique shrieked, "GO!"

"BANG!"

Screams of shock and terror pierced the air, as countless sparks sailed and soared all over the Great Hall, whooshing past people's faces. Rockets with long tails of silver stars trailed past the staff table, much to the rage and—in some cases—the hilarity of the Hogwarts' teachers.

Headmistress Sprout looked simply lost for words, and she turned to McGonagall, aghast, as several glimmering embers glided round and round her water goblet.

"Oh, Ponoma," McGonagall chortled, laughing herself silly as a firework flew into Hagrid's pumpkin juice, splattering it all over his thick beard. "We're going to have so much fun with these three this year, aren't we?"


	4. Year IV: 2017

Author's Note: Finally, a new chapter has been written! This includes all the canon first-years introduced in the epilogue, as well as Molly Weasley II—who _I_ believe to be the same age as Rose, Al, and Scorpius. Scorpius's sorting is based almost completely off of my Rose and Scorpius Fanfic, _Family Feuds._

Also, somebody asked in a comment where they could find a Next Generation timeline. Well, I've got _my_ version of an HP post-war timeline in a Fanfic I wrote called _A New Life_. All my Next Gen. stories follow that timeline, so I do believe that it would help you to understand the timings this story tremendously if you took a look.

And without further ado...

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling.

* * *

Scorpius bit his lip apprehensively as Professor Longbottom reentered the Entrance Hall to lead them to the sorting ceremony; he really did _not_ want to be in Slytherin. In fact, if there was one house he did not want to be in, Slytherin was the one. He just _had_ to prove to the world that being a Malfoy didn't make him prejudiced and malevolent.

Professor Longbottom smiled soothingly at the first-years before escorting them into an enormous hall. Four tables graced the hall; one for each house, Scorpius supposed. He scanned the Slytherin table intently and located his cousin, Zara Zabini. She smirked complacently at him before turning back to the front of the room.

Meanwhile, on the other end of the hall, a raven-haired boy that very much resembled his new friend, Albus Potter, was giving Al a cheering wink. Al smiled feebly at him.

"Is that your—?" Scorpius began.

"Brother, yeah. His name's James," Al finished.

"We've met," Scorpius shrugged, remembering their brief, but rather amusing encounter on the Hogwarts Express.

To Scorpius's right, Rose Weasley, Al's cousin who seemed to have nothing less than an intensely burning hatred for him, was whispering animatedly to her fellow first-year cousin Molly—who was looking very much disinterested—, "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in _Hogwarts, A History_." Scorpius looked up and found that Rose was indeed correct. The ceiling was pitch black and speckled with dazzling stars.

The entire hall burst into applause as the sorting hat, which had been singing up until a moment ago, stopped singing; Scorpius felt his stomach swoop nauseatingly. The Sorting had begun.

Professor Longbottom now stepped forward from the staff table, holding up a lengthy roll of parchment.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," he explained, eyes twinkling as he beheld the new first-years.

One by one, students were called forward to try on the hat, and each time, the hat called out one of four houses.

By this point, Albus, Scorpius, Rose, and Molly were all absolutely white-faced with dread.

* * *

_Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy_

"Malfoy, Scorpius."

There was a sudden outbreak of whispering. People were pointing at him and narrowing their eyes rudely in his direction. Everyone seemed very much certain where he would be sorted—the "noble" house of his ancestors.

Ignoring the visible looks of deep loathing that people were throwing him and the way people at the Slytherin table were already making space for him, Scorpius walked fearlessly up to the stool and jammed the hat confidently on his head.

"A Malfoy?" a sly voice in his head inquired innocuously.

Scorpius's eyes widened under the hat's various flaps.

" Draco's son, I suppose," the voice sneered.

_Yes_, thought Scorpius, filled with sudden rage at his immediate labeling.

"You're nothing like_ he_ was during his sorting, that's for sure," the voice said, this time with an air of deep contemplation.

_Really? _Scorpius breathed a small sigh of relief. _That's a load off. Hopefully I won't be in Slytherin, then._

"A Malfoy not wanting to be in Slytherin? Mighty impressive, I must say…"

Scorpius was filled with new determination. _I just want to show everyone that I'm not a bad person, and I'll go through all means to accomplish it, even if it means dishonoring the Malfoy name. Though I expect the Malfoy name can't tarnish anymore, can it?_ Scorpius added dryly as an afterthought, recalling how everyone on the train had regarded him with utter disdain.

"Very valiant of you, Mr. Malfoy, very valiant indeed. This will bring honor to the Malfoy name…" the small voice trailed off.

And before Scorpius could fathom what the hat meant by this–

"GRYFFINDOR!" Scorpius heard the hat shout to the hall.

* * *

_Albus Severus Potter_

Rose's jaw dropped, and Albus, observing the incredulous way at which she was gawking at Scorpius, smirked smugly as he clapped loudly and supportively for his new-found friend.

"I told you he wasn't like his father," Al said with a hint of self-satisfaction, looking quite pleased with the scowl that Rose flung him.

"Just because he's in Gryffindor, doesn't make him a good person," she snapped tersely, pursing her lips with adamancy.

Al rolled his eyes exasperatedly. "You just won't let things go, will you Rose? I'm sure that when Uncle Ron told you not to get 'too close' to Scorpius, he didn't mean it quite as literally as you're taking it—,"

"Potter, Albus."

Al froze in mid-speech, paling substantially as all eyes turned expectantly to him. People were pointing at him and giving him looks of awe.

Which was strange, for Albus didn't feel particularly awesome at the moment.

"Good luck, Al. Don't worry," Rose said anxiously, as she gave him a slight push towards the front of the room.

Throwing her a frightened look, Al began ambling down the aisle, face whitening further with each step. Just as the hat dropped over his eyes, Al glanced over at the Gryffindor table. _I'll be there soon,_ he thought decisively.

"Will you, now?" a shrewd voice in his ear wanted to know.

Al gave a sudden jerk, almost toppling spectacularly off of the school. He gripped the sides of the stool still more tightly.

"It's funny how almost everyone does that," the hat chuckled.

Albus blushed. How absolutely_ cowardly_ that had been of him.

"I won't hold it against you," the hat said with a hint of amusement. "Potter, eh? You're a lot like your father… and equally tricky to sort. You've got a fair mind, quite a bit of craftiness… although it's buried very deep down, mind you…"

Al gulped. The hat was going to put him in Slytherin.

But then, Albus remembered what his father had told him. _…one of them was a Slytherin and he was probably the bravest man I ever knew… _It was not his abilities that defined him as a person—it was the choices he made. And Albus knew, in that moment, that wherever the hat chose to put him, he would always be the same person on the inside.

"…you'll go places, dear boy," the voice in his ear said gently. "Never let go of that sheer nobility which you so obviously possess…"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

* * *

_Molly Audrey Weasley_

Molly watched with growing trepidation as Al too joined the numerous members of the Weasley-Potter clan at the Gryffindor table.

She eyed the hat fearfully as it sorted person after person; Molly didn't know what the hat would think of her. She glanced to her right where Rose had drawn herself up to her full height and was waiting eagerly for her turn. Molly knew that Rose would end up in Gryffindor. Where else would the hat even consider putting Rose with an intense personality like that?

Molly thought of her younger sister, Lucy. Sharp, intellectually gifted Lucy; a Ravenclaw to boot. Her family—they were all so unafraid, self-assured, confident of who they wanted to be, what they wanted to achieve.

And then there was herself. Timid little Molly, the odd-one-out. The one who had just enough self-esteem to fill a teaspoon.

What did she do about it? Well, Molly fashioned herself a façade. A bored, uninterested external look, so that no one could see the motivated, intelligent, fearless little girl craving to be set free.

But the hat would be able to see right through it. The hat would recognize at once who she truly was.

"Weasley, Molly."

Molly tiptoed hesitantly up to the stool, for once losing her indifferent demeanor, as she sat herself delicately on the stool.

"Another Weasley?" a voice in her ear questioned wearily.

_Yes_, Molly thought vaguely.

"You know," the hat said thoughtfully. "You're the first person today who hasn't jumped out of their skin when I spoke to them."

_Am I really? _Molly asked hopefully. _Didn't that display bravery?_

"Indeed," the voice in her ear confirmed. "Now what have we here? A tremendous urge to prove yourself, I can see. Fear of being overshadowed by your relatives…"

Molly fidgeted nervously with her cloak. Now the hat knew exactly who she was. _I'm a nobody_, Molly thought sadly.

"On the contrary," the hat said kindly. "You're much, much more… possibly the most capable Weasley I've ever sorted, and that includes the Weasley twins. You've got potential, Miss. Weasley, and I'll make sure to put you somewhere where it won't go to waste…"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

* * *

_Rose Monica Weasley_

Finally. Finally it was her turn. Oh, how she detested having to go last.

Rose threw one last, scornful look at the Gryffindor table where Scorpius sat laughing good-humouredly with Al, James, and Fred.

How that rogue of a Malfoy had managed to find himself a place in Gryffindor was beyond her.

"Weasley, Rose."

Taking a deep, calming breath, Rose walked boldly up the aisle and settled herself firmly on the stool. Neville dropped the hat over her eyes.

"Another Weasley? You lot reproduce like rabbits," an astute voice in her ear sneered.

Rose rolled her eyes.

"And what is this? Your parents—no, it can't be!"

_What?_ questioned Rose, baffled by the hat's rather eccentric behavior. She made a mental note to ask her cousins whether it had behaved as strangely during their respective sortings.

"Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger got married?" the voice inquired incredulously.

_Er_, Rose raised an eyebrow dubiously. _Yes. What's so strange about that?_

"Well, when I sorted each of them, they both _begged_ to be in any house except the one that the other was in," the hat explained, chuckling lightly.

_But,_ Rose thought, now utterly bewildered. _You put them together._

"Ah, well, I can't deny I sensed a little romance brewing," the hat said good-naturedly. "In any case, I can see that it paid off."

Rose smiled fleetingly before getting back to business. _Now, Mr. Hat, _I _just want to let you know that I'd like be in any house except the one Malfoy's in—_

"You know," the hat sniggered. "It's funny how history often repeats itself."

_What—_

"GRYFFINDOR!"


	5. Year V: 2019

Author's Note: This chapter shouldve been posted ages ago! Sorry I haven't been consistent with my updating—I'm usually quite a consistent updater. And don't even get me started about my other stories. Merlin, I really need to get a move on!

Anyway, this chapter's a bit longer than my other ones, seeing as there are FIVE people to be sorted. But I'm pretty satisfied with the way I've portrayed them all—and I hope you are, too.

THIS ISN'T THE LAST CHAPTER. There's still Lorcan and Lysander Scamander left because I _did_ promise that I would be writing the sortings of _all_ the canon Next Generation characters.

Enjoy! And stay tuned for the final chapter!

Disclaimer: _Harry Potter_ belongs to J.K. Rowling.

* * *

Louis Weasley strolled down the aisle, taking in his surroundings with fascination. Up until this moment, he'd never truly realized how badly he'd wanted to go to Hogwarts. He'd never made a big scene like Lily or plunged into a mild depression like Roxanne every time his siblings had gone off to school. He'd just stood at King's Cross, clutching his mother's hands, and waved politely to Victoire and Dominique as they'd cooed their goodbyes to him, given him slobbery kisses and tight hugs, and time and again told him how much they'd miss him.

But he was here at last.

And quite truthfully, he couldn't be happier about it.

Glancing over at the Gryffindor table, where his sister Dominique was entertaining a large group of friends with his cousins James and Fred, Louis felt a twinge of jealousy as the group of Gryffindors fell over laughing as Dominique did a spot on imitation of James's ridiculous Quidditch victory dance.

Louis turned away, feeling just the slightest bit resentful. He'd never been as outgoing as Dominique, who could make absolutely anyone laugh with her mere wit and sarcastic humor. Even Victoire, who was as introverted as Dominique was not, made friends with effortlessness just by being her doting self.

Whereas he had always been astonishingly reserved, never bothering to seek attention. He'd always watched his parents' amused faces at his sisters' various antics from behind a book; never once had it occurred to him to drop the book and join them.

But Louis couldn't possibly have been closer to his sisters. They'd fawned all over him from the moment he'd entered the world. Victoire, with her mothering personality, had taught him to read and write, skills that he'd always valued above all others. And Dominique, with her excessively sharp mouth, had taken the trouble to sit him down and teach him some of her choicest retorts. Yes, Louis had never once lost an argument against anyone except Dom.

"Are you scared?" a gentle voice from his right inquired.

"Not terribly," he said truthfully, turning around to face his cousin Lucy, his best friend since birth. They were practically joined at the hip.

Lucy nodded, adjusting her glasses absentmindedly. She stared, for the third time now, over at the Gryffindor table, where her family sat talking and playfully bantering.

There were James and Fred, the practical-joking jokers; Dominique, the snarky, fearless wonder woman; Rose, the brainy, logical leading lady; Albus, the sensitive, innocent, but tremendously noble gentleman; and her own sister Molly. Bored, blasé, indifferent, Molly, who had somehow secured herself a place in Gryffindor. Lucy often wondered how she'd done it.

Now, Lucy was not cowardly, she wasn't absolutely immoral, nor was she a complete stick in the mud. Lucy happened to possess a rather remarkable intelligence. Yes, she had been only two years of age when she'd performed her first bit of magic, managing to apparate all the way from the Burrow's kitchen to the attic above.

"Oi, Luce," somebody called impatiently and subsequently snapped their fingers in front of Lucy's face.

Lucy blinked, looking wildly around. Roxanne Weasley was shaking her awake, for apparently she'd faded quite completely into her own thoughts.

"Yeah?" Lucy asked, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.

"Thought I'd wake you up before you literally _collapsed_ into your own world," was Roxanne's cheeky response.

Lucy smiled fondly, giving Roxanne an affectionate shove.

Roxanne grinned impishly, consequently turning her attention back to the front of the room, where the Sorting Hat was singing a song about the four houses.

Roxanne inwardly scoffed. She already knew which house was hers. The same house in which her father, mother, and esteemed late uncle had been sorted. The same house in which her own brother and his partner-in-crime had been sorted just three years ago.

Roxanne had never been more convinced of anything in her life.

Nudging the girl to her right—who just happened to be her cousin, Lily,—Roxanne motioned towards the Gryffindor table, where her brother and Lily's brother, James, were doing a sort of war dance on the bench.

Chuckling lightly under their breath, both Roxanne and Lily rolled their eyes as, predictably, a very incensed Minerva McGonagall barked from the Staff Table, "Potter! Weasley! Settle down immediately!"

Fred did so, sniggering under his breath, but James went one step further as to holler, "Sure thing, Minnie!" before proceeding to sit down.

McGonagall looked as though she wanted to grab James and fling him out the window, but she instead pursed her lips disapprovingly and continued to watch the singing hat, shooting covertly furious looks at James all the while.

James, meanwhile, had indeed sat down beside Fred. He caught Lily's eye—who had been gawking at him with disbelief—and winked at her. Lily just shook her head at her brother's peculiarity, although internally admiring his pure nerve. Lily knew that, as much of a spitfire as she was, she probably would have never dared to call the former—and immensely revered—Headmistress of Hogwarts by the appellation of "Minnie."

Lily so desperately wanted to be in Gryffindor with the rest of her family. Not only because, in her opinion, it was the best house, but because she wanted to show her family—particularly her brothers—her true capabilities. Not that her brothers doubted her abilities or anything. James especially was particularly cautious around Lily, knowing her to be competent of some very vicious underage magic.

But it would be rather satisfying to give them some final proof. And what would be a more ideal way of proving her potential than to be sorted in the house where they were most valued?

"Cheese," someone muttered.

Lily snapped out of her reverie, turning her attention to the boy on her right. Despite the fact that he was exceedingly tall—towering over Lily—, his apparent timid, fearful demeanor and the way he was clutching the front of his robes with terror made him seem a lot younger than he actually was.

"Hugo?" Lily questioned gently.

"Chudley Canons," Hugo whimpered. His steadily widening eyes were glued to the hat in front of him.

"Hugo!" Lily forgot about her previously gentle approach and jabbed her cousin, Hugo, hard on his side.

Hugo gave a small scream and jumped, earning him funny looks from the other first-years around him.

"Are you okay?" Lily asked worriedly, eyes taking in the excessively pale color of Hugo's face.

"Fine," Hugo muttered faintly.

"You are _not_ fine," Lily snapped decisively. "You only say random things when you're uneasy. And if you're previous mumbling of the words 'cheese' and 'Chudley Canons' mean anything, then you are indeed not fine."

"I'm _fine_, Lils," Hugo said firmly, ignoring Lily's incredulous look.

But, quite perceptibly, Hugo was not fine. He was much, much less than fine.

Having not even slept a wink the previous night, Hugo was beginning to think longingly of the Gryffindor common room that his father and mother both loved describing to him. What Hugo wouldn't give to drowse contentedly in one of those squashy, scarlet armchairs by the warm, warm fireplace.

But then the other issue that kept troubling Hugo—the reason that Hugo hadn't slept well at night—came back to him.

What if he wasn't in Gryffindor?

_"If you're not in Gryffindor, we'll disinherit you, but no pressure."_

Why his father's words from two years ago—even when he knew he'd been joking—kept plaguing Hugo was beyond him. Hugo knew that his father didn't truly mind where the hat put him; Uncle Bill hadn't been disappointed when Victoire had landed herself in Hufflepuff. In fact, he'd been quite pleased, and had immediately written to his eldest daughter, telling her how proud he was and how he hoped that she always held on to her staunch loyalty.

Hugo knew that his father too would be proud of him, even if Hugo was sorted into Slytherin; although, in the case that that_ did_ happen, Hugo's mother would probably have to do quite a bit of coaxing.

But Hugo couldn't help but worry about not being a Gryffindor. Because, often, the times when everyone assures you that no bad can happen are the times when you worry the most.

* * *

_Lily Luna Potter_

"Potter, Lily."

The sudden utterance of his closest friend's name brought Hugo back to Earth.

Lily shot him one last concerned look before making her way down the aisle and sliding deftly down on to the stool. Neville gave her a friendly smile before dropping the hat over her eyes.

"Potter again?" a voice in her head asked immediately.

Lily thought fiercely, _Look, Hat, if you don't put you in Gryffindor, I will Bat Bogey Hex you so badly—_

"Not the first time I've heard that one," the hat said with a sigh of long-suffering. "And how, may I ask, do you know a Bat Bogey Hex at the age of eleven?"

Lily shifted sheepishly in her seat. _Mum taught me. But don't tell dad or he'll go mental. Apparently, he's been in too many accidents involving underage magic before—_

"He's not lying, that one," that hat sniggered. "Now, let's see. A very, very distinct desire to prove yourself, I can see. Though I can't understand why. Anyone who's been on the receiving end of your Bat Bogey Hex ought to know better than to underestimate you."

Lily grinned, satisfied. _True indeed._

"I pity your brothers. Once I sort you, I reckon they'll be on that very receiving end quite often..."

"GRYFFINDOR!" Lily heard that hat shout to the hall.

And Lily flounced happily off of the stool to the Gryffindor table, giving both Albus and James grins of pure wickedness before sitting down quite contentedly beside Rose.

* * *

_Hugo Wendell Weasley_

"Weasley, Hugo."

Hugo watched Lily make herself comfortable at the Gryffindor table, feeling a sudden surge of panic. Lily was in Gryffindor.

Lily, who had always been there for him. Lily, who was the one person Hugo could entrust anything to. And now, more than ever, did Hugo want to be in Gryffindor. He and Lily were two peas in a pod, two halves of a whole. Now, they couldn't be separated by something as powerful as a Hogwarts house. They just couldn't.

Dragging his feet along the marble floor, Hugo gave an unwilling shudder as he sat down on the stool, clasping and unclasping his hands.

"Weasleys, Weasleys, and more Weasleys," a disgruntled voice sounded in his ear, followed by a groan. "Will this ever end?"

_Yes_, Hugo thought nervously. _After today until about another decade or so, I suppose._

The hat chuckled. "So, now, where to put you. Not much ambition, I must say. A very good mind, though…"

_I don't belong in Gryffindor, that's for sure, _Hugo thought, letting his head droop sadly.

"What makes you think that?"

_Well, _Hugo frowned, _I'm not brave at all. It took me everything I had and more just to walk up here._

"Ah, you see," the hat said shrewdly. "There's more to Gryffindor than being completely fearless. You faced your fears today, Hugo Weasley, for you came up here even though it frightened you greatly. You did what you had to do despite how much you didn't wish to. That's what makes you a true Gryffindor…"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

* * *

_Louis William Weasley_

"Weasley, Louis."

Louis flicked his silvery-blonde hair out of his eyes, and, despite the sudden constriction of his chest, he found himself advancing up the marble steps, sitting down, and letting Neville Longbottom lower the hat past his eyes.

_Don't put me in Gryffindor, _was Louis's first thought.

There was a pregnant pause.

Then a voice in his head asked disbelievingly, "Are you really a Weasley?"

Louis raised an eyebrow. _Yes, why?_

"Never," the voice said resolutely, "in all my years of sorting Weasleys has one of your brood ever told me as directly as you just did that you did _not_ want to be in Gryffindor."

_Ah, well_, Louis thought, smirking under the hat, and deciding to use one of Dominique's favorite ripostes. _There's a first time for everything._

"Indeed there is," the hat chuckled mildly. "And with sharpness like that, there really is only one option for you…"

"RAVENCLAW!"

* * *

_Lucy Ginevra Weasley_

Out of the corner of her eye, Lucy watched the entirety of her family at the Gryffindor table exchange knowing glances as Louis joined the Ravenclaw table, looking quite pleased with himself. She saw Dominique's face fall slightly at the sight of her darling little brother in a different house, but clap anyway, being the ceaselessly supportive person she was.

And now it was Lucy's turn to go up. Her turn to try on the hat.

Lucy didn't feel the least bit nervous. She never felt nervous.

She knew she could be in any house she wanted to. She was confident, sharp, loyal, ambitious.

The truth was that she rather wanted to be in Gryffindor. She had always loved her family, and she wanted to be where the majority of them were. Woe betide anyone who said anything hurtful about the Weasley operation within earshot of Lucy, for she would most probably hex them into the next century.

But Lucy had always had this special fondness for Louis. Perhaps it was because they had so much in common, or perhaps it was because they'd always had this connection, and always seemed to know what the other was thinking. They were best friends after all, and Lucy knew that they had to stick together.

"Weasley, Lucy."

"Good luck, Luce," Roxanne grinned from behind her.

Lucy smiled at her, walked boldly up to the stool and sat down, still smiling somewhat vaguely as the hat dropped over her eyes.

"Is it just me, or are there far too many Weasleys today than strictly allowed?" a sly voice in her head wanted to know. "I swear that if I have to sort one more Weasley after this, I might just incinerate myself.

_Well, then, prepare to be reduced to ashes_, Lucy smirked, thinking of Roxanne.

"That's some wit you've got there," the hat said with an air of appreciativeness.

_I would pretend to be modest, but you can see right through me, _Lucy sniggered softly.

"Quite a wily, wicked thing as well!" the hat exclaimed. "My, you truly are an extraordinary bunch of Weasleys today, aren't you? Perhaps I should let go of my belief that all Weasleys belong in Gryffindor, for you really would do well in Slytherin."

_You really should trash that conviction_, Lucy said earnestly. _I know _I'd _do well in any house._

"Yes… yes, that's absolutely true, but… surely you have _some_ preference?"

_Well_, Lucy hesitated. _I'd like to be in Ravenclaw, if you don't mind. You put Louis there and I— I promised him that—_

"That you'd stick together?" the hat said understandingly. "With loyalty like that you could be a true Hufflepuff, but…"

"RAVENCLAW!"

* * *

_Roxanne Matilda Weasley_

"Weasley, Roxanne."

Roxanne strutted down the aisle and sat down on the stool, grinning with an almost maniacal impishness as the hat fell over her eyes.

_Before you ask, _thought Roxanne at once_, I'm the last Weasley._

"What made you think I would ask that?"

_Come off it, _Roxanne scoffed. _You've sorted us all. You've sorted my _brother_! Aren't you exhausted yet?_

The hat guffawed. "Well, as much as I must admit that sorting you hoodlums is a chore, I can't deny that it's a rather _interesting _process."

_So, where's this process of yours taking me?_

"Well, you're most incredibly clever… almost as bright as the last two Weasleys I sorted and they're _Ravenclaws_!"

Roxanne beamed. She'd always rather treasured her intelligence for it helped tremendously back at her father's shop. She was the brain behind many of her father's inventions after all… and not just for the Wonder Witch line.

"And you're quite stable… I can't say the same for your brother."

Roxanne nodded fervidly in agreement.

"I think Fred's sorting has me scarred for life… oh no! What's this, now? A love for practical jokes?"

_Fred's influence did pay off a little_, Roxanne admitted with an unwilling grin.

"If I put you in the same house as your brother, promise me that you two won't intend to blow up the school," the hat mock-pleaded.

_Don't worry_, Roxanne thought, the corners of her lips twitching upward. _I'm sure Fred and James have already devised a plan for that._

The hat sighed exasperatedly.

"GRYFFINDOR!"


	6. Year VI: 2025

Author's Note: Erm, hello, anyone there? I am a horrible person for not even attempting to write this Fanfic for ages. Really, I almost forgot about it until recently. Not that I'd have updated it even if I had remembered that it was incomplete, seeing as Writer's Block is my new best friend.

I'm not fond of this chapter at all; I feel as if it is a bit vague. So here's a little summary on Lorcan and Lysander's relationship before you read:

_Lorcan is a sharp, witty, highly observant boy. Lysander is the complete opposite; he's dreamy, easily distracted, but has the mind of a true genius. Lorcan has always been worried about Lysander, feeling that his brother's abstracted personality wouldn't do him any wonders once he got to Hogwarts. But once there, he realizes just how wrong he is..._

I would like to thank andvellapaz, Lyra Lovegood, jade2nightwing, PeetaBakesCakes, Lotta Devon, wisps of smoky blue cloud, mikki105, Tape Monkey, LuvinReadin, fantabulousz, pinkgoldpish, TrueTor, NinjaBananaPeel, Beeezie, Gadrieth, lillyshak, bikelock28, Myth'lovin, 1945, someone, AMessOfPickles, oxydazzled, Echo101, StarKid McFly, InventorOfFirebolt, alfiesurprise101, ILurveKennehMcormick, LyraLovegoodxoxo, Mands, contemplating being nocturnal, levvmendel, Leamichellemenzelxxx, Anjanaaaaa, Missy, NessAlexisCastle, imira, The Cheese, vezziemax003, Challen, astrochez, Serenayde, movinggirl, Smile a mile long, ode to joy, suracolanappar, tatatalya, myhorserockyrocks, Maison de L'amour, skaterofthebooks, and bestia medianoche for reviewing this story. I truly appreciated every single one. Each and every one of you make me a better author.

* * *

"Lysander!" a boy with dirty-blonde hair swept neatly back admonished, hissing furiously at the boy on his right. "If I catch you doing that one more time, I swear to Merlin I will hit you with this book," he threatened menacingly, waving a copy of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ in front of the boy's nose.

The boy named Lysander was walking alongside the other boy, waving his arms around his head vigorously as if trying to ward something off. "But Lorcan," Lysander protested, still brandishing his hands about, "there're wrackspurts here. Loads of them."

Lorcan shut his book with a snap, rolling his eyes exasperatedly as he and Lysander sauntered, along with a group of other first-years, through a pair of great gilded doors.

They walked into an enormous hall amidst much cooing whispers and pointing. People all over the room were gesturing to the two boys—Lorcan and Lysander—and whispering excitedly, "Ooh, look! Twins!"

And twins they were. The two boys looked positively indistinguishable. Both had large green-grey eyes, dirty-blonde hair, and simply angelic smiles that made their bright eyes crinkle and twinkle. The only difference in their appearance was that while Lorcan's hair was brushed elegantly back, Lysander's hung rakishly down to his shoulders, making him look quite handsomely windswept.

"Twins?" Lysander inquired with just as much enthusiasm as the rest of the hall. "Where?"

There was a resounding slap as Lorcan's hand met his forehead. "They're talking about _us_, Lys."

"Ah."

A tall, rather impressive-looking man stepped forth holding a battered and tattered old hat. ("Now, that hat is just chock-full of Wrackspurts," Lysander said knowledgabely.") Faint scars graced his face and arms; he looked fairly battle-worn.

Identical expressions of dawning recognition surfaced on the twins' faces.

"Neville!" they called gleefully, waving exuberantly and grinning widely at the man.

There was an outburst of chuckling from the rest of the school as Neville waved mock-animatedly back, eyes twinkling with unexpressed laughter.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," Neville addressed the first years, clearing his throat. "Adams, Angel."

Lorcan fiddled obliviously with the book in his hand, brain whirring as he contemplated his impending sorting. Or rather, his brother's. Lorcan frankly wasn't worried much about his sorting, but then Lorcan rarely worried about himself, choosing instead to direct any anxiety he possessed towards his twin brother.

_Lysander_, Lorcan thought perplexedly for the twentieth time that day. _Why in the name of Merlin was that boy's head always in the clouds?_

And despite the number of times Lorcan brooded over this question, he was never able to come up with a plausible answer to it. It just didn't make any sense in Lorcan's mind that Lysander should be so persistently abstracted when, he, Lorcan, his _twin brother_, was _very_ much the opposite.

It was hard to get anything erroneous past Lorcan for he, with his sharp and observant personality, never missed a trick. In fact, the only person who'd ever managed to fool Lorcan was Lysander, much to Lorcan's continual fury and disbelief.

Lorcan glanced at his twin brother who was staring at the Sorting Hat expressionlessly. He had, fortunately for Lorcan's sanity, given up on his mission to exterminate "wrackspurts." But his hands now hung limply by his sides, expression vacant.

Lorcan quirked an eyebrow incredulously at his brother, wondering how on Earth he could go from completely loopy to absolutely blank in just minutes. Surely he had _some_ train of thought.

"Rivers, Andrew."

Lorcan gave a little start at the sudden verbalization of a name, looking swiftly around. His mouth formed a perfect 'O' as he realized that he and his twin were the only two first-years left to be sorted.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" the hat bellowed to the hall.

Swallowing deeply and casting one last apprehensive look in the direction of his still-dazed brother, Lorcan braced himself.

* * *

_Lorcan Xenophilius Scamander_

"Scamander, Lorcan."

Lysander turned composedly over to his twin brother and smiled charmingly. "Good luck, Lorcan."

Lorcan gave a tight-lipped, curt nod of the head, walked fleetly up the aisle and permitted Neville to let fall the Sorting Hat on his head.

_Wherever you put me, you must put my brother, too_, Lorcan silently pleaded the moment the hat dropped over his eyes.

"And why is that?" a voice in his ear—whom Lorcan assumed to be the hat—inquired silkily, and Lorcan envisioned a dark, slender man raising a derisive eyebrow.

_Because I— I_, Lorcan spluttered uncharacteristically. _He's my brother!_

"I really don't see how that explains anything," the hat continued mellifluously. "There've been plenty of siblings who got separated by me—,"

_It's just that, I don't know what he'd do without me!_ Lorcan blurted out, regretting how foolish he was making his brother out to be.

The hat was silent as Lorcan's mind reeled with many a thought.

_All my life I've looked out for him, wondered how we could possibly be related with him being so— so odd—_

"There's nothing odd about your brother," the hat interrupted evenly.

_What are you talking about—_

"I can see this thought has been bothering you," the hat continued gravely. "So, let me explain. There is nothing odd about your brother at all. Surely, growing up with a mother like yours, you should know that."

Lorcan squirmed uncomfortably in his seat at mention of his mother. It was true that Luna Scamander (née Lovegood) was a bit odd and believed in many eccentricities that Lorcan would never once dream of accepting true…

And suddenly it all made sense.

"You see," that hat said seriously. "Your brother is perfectly capable of looking after himself. He is very much as adept as dear Luna herself, and she was quite a woman."

Lorcan felt the embarrassment of the situation wash over him. How could he have doubted his brother like that?

"Now, now, dear boy," the hat said gently. "Your intentions were pure, no doubt about that. I can see that while you are immensely sharp and witty, your loyalty empowers your heart…"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

* * *

_Lysander Newton Scamander_

Lysander's eyes grew wide with surprise as his twin brother walked—looking quite stunned—over to the Hufflepuff table.

Lorcan had always wanted to be in Ravenclaw, from the time they'd been little children and their mum and dad had told them about the four different houses. In fact, whenever their family had visited Grandad Xeno, Lorcan had insisted on wearing Granddad Xeno's replica of the Ravenclaw Diadem. He'd put on quite a show for the family, prancing around the dining room in that overly-large headdress, proudly exclaiming, "I'll be a Ravenclaw just like you, Granddad!"

But now he was sitting at the Hufflepuff table.

Lysander was at a loss for words.

"Scamander, Lysander."

Lysander walked casually over to the hat—as if it were just any article of clothing—and sat down on the stool, beaming merrily at Neville as the latter lowered the hat over the former's eyes.

"Ah, you must be Lysander," a voice in his head stated immediately.

_I am_, Lysander said mildly, not at all disturbed by the fact that a _hat_ apparently knew his name. _Are you packed with Wrackspurts? Is that why you put Lorcan in Hufflepuff when he should've been in Ravenclaw? Because sometimes Wrackspurts can make your brain go fuzzy and then you make mistakes—_

"Your brother belonged in Hufflepuff," the hat affirmed resolutely, though chuckling nonetheless. "Wrackspurts, eh? Now, where have I heard that before? Anyway, Lysander, with your astute senses and discerning mind, I believe I've already found a place for you…"

"RAVENCLAW!"

* * *

After the feast, Lysander—still excessively dazed from his sorting—tripped over to where Lorcan was excusing himself from the Ravenclaw table.

"I'm sorry, Lorcan," Lysander said immediately, bowing his head in genuine shame.

"Sorry?" Lorcan wanted to know. "Whatever for—,"

"For being in Ravenclaw when _you_ should've been in it," Lysander explained sadly. "You're the smart one, Lorcan—,"

"You have more brains than you know," Lorcan said kindly, flinging a supportive hand around his brother's shoulders and pulling him out into the Entrance Hall where everybody else seemed to be going. "You'll do great in Ravenclaw."

"You'll do great in Hufflepuff, Lorcan," Lysander said seriously. "You'd do great anywhere."

And with that, Lysander darted off after the other Ravenclaw first-years who were headed upstairs.

And Lorcan was left speechless once more.


End file.
